The Way Things Are
by elizabeth92
Summary: The wizarding war is raging when a young Italian couple find a child, abandoned on a doorstep of a church and adopt her. Eleven years later, Marietta receives her Hogwarts letter. Please read and review.
1. A Lucky Twist of Fate

**November 1997**

Victor and Isabella Spiro both came from different parts of Italy to study at Oxford. They met in school and decided to marry. However, instead of returning to their homeland, they fell in love with the English countryside. Both Victor and Isabella's families were wealthy and the couple bought a charming 17th century manor a few miles outside London. The young, ambitious couple had dreams of raising a huge family as big as the ones they'd left behind in Italy. However, after almost a year of trying to have a baby, Isabella learned she could never give birth to her own child. It seemed like a singularly lucky twist of fate when, on their way back from the clinic, a distraught Isabella asked her husband to stop at the church to pray. St. Elizabeth's was not a particularly impressive church. It was an unremarkable brick building and the stained glass windows depicting the Visitation of Mary were cracked and dusty. The roof leaked, but the small parish could never seem to raise enough money to fix it. However, on the starry November night, there was a special charm to the old building. A light in the back of the church showed the Spiros that old Father Geral was still up, and Victor decided to oblige his wife's request.

As they got out of their car and made their way up the cracked stone steps, Isabella suddenly stopped. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

Victor looked at her. "What?"

"It … it sounds like a baby. Crying."

_Right… _Victor looked at his wife, studying her. She'd always seemed stable enough … but was the doctor's news too much for her? He felt a twinge of guilt for begging her for a big family that they now both knew she could never give him. "Bella," he coaxed, "come here. You're just -"

And then he heard it, too.

A feeble cry echoed through the otherwise silent churchyard. Isabella ran up the church stairs to follow the sound of the cries and dropped to her knees in front of the door. "_Mio dio_," she breathed, looking down at the bundle that lay on the step before her. "Victor, it is a baby!"

An hour later, the young couple sat in the small kitchen in the back of the church. Father Geral, an elderly but gentle man, gazed down at the baby. She had fallen asleep in her makeshift cradle, clutching Isabella's finger. The young woman watched her fondly, stroking the bright red curls. "I don't know whose child it could be," he mused. "This isn't a large parish, after all, and she doesn't look very familiar." _There aren't many redheads around here,_ Victor thought with a worried smile as he watched his wife. Already, she was so attached to the little baby. He knew Isabella would want to keep the girl, but what if they couldn't?

"I think it's a sign," Isabella said. "Don't you agree, Father? God sent me this little baby because I cannot have one of my own. He sent me a little daughter to care for, to raise as my own child."

Father Geral smiled fondly. He'd always liked the young couple and now pitied poor Isabella, who loved children so much. "I do believe you, Isabella. But we don't know if the baby has family or any relatives to care for her."

"But, Father, surely you're not well enough to take care of a little baby. Can we take her home with us? You know, to take care of her until her family is found?" Isabella pleaded.

Father Geral smiled indulgently. "I don't see why not…"

Victor sighed. He knew Isabella would never be able to let go if they took the baby home. But if they didn't, he could never forgive himself for breaking his wife's heart again.

"Very well," he said. "We'll take the child for now."

Isabella carried the little bundle of blankets out into the night air. As they stepped into the dark night, the little girl woke up, her bright green eyes blinking up at the young woman. "I don't care what they say," Isabella whispered, clutching the child to her heart. "I'm keeping you, my angel. I wanted a child more than anything and God sent you. _Marietta_. My angel." Of course, it's altogether lovely that young Isabella Spiro believed it was God who sent the baby to the doorstep of that very church, God who led her to the child, God who sent her a baby. Yeah right.

Well, maybe that was partially true. But if it was, he was working through someone else.

* * *

People say it's hard to lose a child. But it's even harder to give one up. And yet, sometimes, you have no choice. In the long run, perhaps, Ginny had a choice. She could have kept her baby, could have told him, could have created a family. But a sixteen-year-old girl only has so many brains, especially when found in a situation like hers. She could have kept the father a secret, but surely everyone would have known once the child was born. The child was bound to have one of his or her father's distinctive traits. And no one could miss those emerald green eyes or that unruly, pitch black hair.

One part of the girl desperately wanted to keep her child. For, although Ginny wasn't an overly sentimental person, even about her own child, she wondered about keeping the child as a safeguard. She couldn't help but wonder if, one day, that child would be all she had left of him, should anything happen. Being who he was, it was all too likely that something would.

But then there was the slightly more sensible part of her that was not connected to her hormones. She was still in school, for goodness' sake – Hogwarts was hardly a place for a baby. And that baby would just be one more thing that could be used against both of them – used to hurt him.

And she could never hurt him.

Not him.


	2. A Rather Old Fashioned Letter

**_I've had several hits on this story -- thank you for reading -- and I'd love for you to coninue. I absolutely adore feedback, so take a chance to leave me any sort of message. Preferably positive, those are always nice! I'd also love to hear your input. Read and review!!_**

**July 2009**

Isabella and Victor Spiro ended up keeping the little red-haired baby, and ever since she was brought home on that chilly November night to the Spiro home, the baby – christened Marietta in the same church at which she had been found – was spoiled indecently. Perhaps a newborn does not require designer booties. Perhaps a five-year-old girl does not need a pony. Perhaps a ten-year-old does not call for a diamond and pearl necklace. But whether she needed it or not, Marietta had it anyway.

Therefore, it was a not a surprise when her mother found a thick envelope in the mail. It was addressed in green ink to "Miss Marietta Spiro." _Rather old fashioned_, Isabella thought, as she examined the large seal on the back of the envelope. _Hogwarts? What an old name ... why, she hadn't known Marietta had even applied. _"Victor?" she asked, tossing the rest of the mail on to the counter. "Did Marietta apply to … Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts? Never heard of it." The muffled words came from the rear end of a pajama-clad man. The other end of him was stuck in the refrigerator. "Why do you ask?" he inquired, emerging with a pile of frozen pancakes and a handful of stale popcorn.

"Mari got a letter." Isabella shrugged, turning the envelope over in her hand. "Knowing those people, it's probably some new credit card offer."

"Nice credit card offer, though," Victor remarked. "Back when I still got them, they were on the back of cheap advertisements."

"I didn't know they had ads when dinosaurs roamed the earth, Dad," came an airy voice from the doorway. A young girl in a purple nightdress stood in the kitchen, leaning against the door.

Isabella laughed at the disgruntled expression on her husband's face. Marietta's sassy expression faded to a grin and her bright green eyes twinkled. Marietta's eyes were yet another thing that set her apart from her parents. Isabella and Victor's olive-complected features were distinctly Italian; Marietta's fair complexion and curly, bright red hair couldn't look less Mediterranean. There were other things too – things Marietta did that made her parents question exactly where their daughter had come from. But Marietta had yet to notice these differences and so they didn't allow such things to concern them. She was only eleven and her sheltered existence hadn't allowed her to even consider her background.

"What's for breakfast?" she asked, eyeing the frozen leftovers in her father's hands. "Oh, Mum … not that."

Isabella laughed. "No, your dad was just cleaning out the fridge. I think. I'll make some eggs, if you'd like."

"That sounds great. Did you get the paper? Saturday comics are the best."

"It's on the counter." Victor pulled out a carton of eggs and handed them to Isabella and asked, "Did you apply to a school of some sort? Your mum has a letter here from … Pigwarts, wasn't that right?"

"Hogwarts, dear."

"Right. Hogwarts. Did you apply?"

Marietta's attitude returned. "No," she laughed. "Is that some sort of joke? Hogwarts?" Victor tossed her the heavy envelope. "Marietta Spiro. The Bedroom on the Left … Dad, what is this?" Just as she began to open the large seal, the doorbell rang. Isabella was cracking eggs and Victor had returned to cleaning out the fridge, so Marietta ran to answer it.

A man stood at the door, dressed oddly in a raincoat and long underwear. He was accompanied by a smartly-dressed woman in her late twenties who had clearly mastered the art of dressing slightly better than her companion: she wore a black suit and her brown hair was slicked into a bun.

"Good morning, Miss Spiro." The woman smiled at her. She had warm brown eyes and Marietta smiled back, for some reason unafraid that the strange woman knew her name. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"I … uh … Mum?"

Isabella appeared in the hallway behind her daughter. "How may I help you?" she asked, casting a quick glance at the oddly-attired man before returning her attention to the woman.

"I'm here to discuss your daughter's acceptance into Hogwarts. May I come in?" Isabella nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. "Thank you." The woman's voice lost its delicate tone and was suddenly very businesslike and rather bossy. "Is there somewhere where we can sit? A study perhaps?"

"Uh … right this way."

Marietta spent little time in the dark study and though her parents occasionally flipped through the pages of the old books that lined the shelves, the room was a little dustier with disuse than they would like. Once they were comfortably seated in the large leather armchairs, the woman began to speak. "Mr. and Mrs. Spiro, it may have come to your attention that Marietta is an extraordinarily gifted child." Marietta beamed at her parents, who were still looking very uneasy. "You may have noticed certain oddities, certain quirks about her that were, perhaps, more pronounced in her early childhood." Marietta's proud smile faded. _Oddities? Quirks? _"I have been sent as a representative of my former school and as a personal favor from the Minister to inform you that your daughter has been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Marietta began to giggle. "Mum, Dad, that's hilarious! How did you convince these two to come here, and that man dressed as he is?" The man in question looked down at his apparel, thoroughly offended. When her parents did not meet her eyes, Marietta began to frown. "Mum … Dad … this is a joke, right?"

Her parents didn't speak, looking to the woman instead.

"Marietta, you are a witch."

Marietta stared at her. "You have to be joking, there's no such thing as witches. I don't believe this; Mum, tell me you don't believe this."

But Isabella was looking in earnest at the strangers. "Strange things … have happened. There were occurrences, odd occurrences when she was a little girl. She used to make the lights flicker when she didn't want to take a bath. There were more of them when she was a child, when we first took her in as a baby."

"Took me in? What do you mean?"

Isabella's eyes flitted from her husband to her daughter to the strange man and woman sitting rather too comfortably in her study. She took a deep breath. "Marietta, you're not our … our birth daughter. We found you, shortly after moving here, eleven years ago."

The woman leaned forward, interested, but Marietta didn't notice. "You mean, I'm adopted?" Isabella nodded. "How could you not tell me?"

"We were going to eventually -" began Victor, but Marietta cut him off.

"So you're not my real parents?" Isabella and Victor shook their heads. "And now, these _people_ show up and tell me I'm a … a _witch_?"

"It's the truth, Marietta. You're a witch, as certain as I'm sitting here. Your parents – that is, Mr. and Mrs. Spiro – wouldn't have known. I was in the same situation as you, years ago. My parents weren't magical, but I was. It was hard to believe, almost impossible, but I promise you that it's the truth."

Marietta stared. Maybe it did make sense. She had blurred memories of the strange incidents her mother had mentioned and more vivid recollections of more recent events that she'd kept private from her parents. The smashed vase hadn't been knocked over on accident; it had mysteriously crashed to the floor when she'd come home from school upset. "Can you … can you prove any of this?" she asked tentatively.

The woman pulled a wooden rod out of her blazer and with a flick of her wrist – the desk turned into a hippopotamus. Marietta squealed with shock and a twinge of delight. Suddenly, the desk was a desk once more. "And that's what magic can do? That's what I can learn at Hogwarts?"

The woman nodded. "I've brought along Professor Longbottom to answer any questions you have about the school. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to your parents alone. Would you care to speak to the professor?"

Usually Marietta would have been insulted and more than a little unwilling to be so obviously asked to leave, but the possibility of seeing more magic was intriguing. She got up quickly and followed the oddly-dressed man from the room. With Marietta gone, the woman turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Spiro.

"I was unaware that Marietta was adopted," she confessed to them. "Usually such things are recognized, but not this time. She is registered as a Muggleborn and although she displays an usual amount of magical ability for such, I am loathe to discriminate on a birth basis." Isabella and Victor thought they followed. "However, if it is true that Marietta is not your daughter, then it is highly likely she is at descended from at least one wizarding parent. Can you tell me anything about the circumstances of Marietta's birth? It would be beneficial to her to know as much about her background as is possible; eleven years ago, our world was in turmoil and her existence could be unknown to most of the members of her family. Family is very important in our world and to many who were involved in the dark times years ago, there is little of it that remains to them. Please, tell me what you know."

Victor began. "We found her in November, on the steps of a church in this town. When no one stepped forward to claim her, the priest encouraged us to keep her. The adoption was made final a few months later. This is a small town; we haven't lived here long in comparison to most of the residents, but we know what it's like. Everyone knows everyone's business and if Marietta's mother or father was from around here, we would have found out."

"It's not unlikely that the mother could have travelled for miles in search of a place to leave her child, especially if she was a witch … although it is strange that a witch would have left her daughter at a Muggle establishment, even a church."

"That's the second time you've used that word … Muggle?"

"It refers to non-magic people, such as yourselves. Not derogatory," the woman hurriedly assured Victor. "I can only surmise that during the chaos of the wizarding world, she found it best to leave her child as far away from magic as she could. Perhaps her family disapproved ... the possibilities are truly endless."

"You talked about Marietta's family." For the first time since her daughter had left the room, Isabella spoke. "That they would not know about her, that they would want to. But we're Marietta's parents. We adopted her, raised her, cared for her. You're not going to take my daughter away!"

"Mrs. Spiro, I understand your concern. I can assure you that I am not here to take Marietta away. I wish the best for all of you. I am merely here to inform you about our world and offer your daughter a place in the best wizarding school in the world, a school where she will be able to grow to her full potential. My recent questions were asked purely out of curiosity; I do not in any way wish to separate you from your daughter."

Isabella breathed a sigh of relief. "You'd best tell us more about this school then," said Victor. "Pigwarts or whatever it is…"

"Hogwarts," Isabella and the woman said in unison.

* * *

Two hours and hundreds of questions later, it was settled. Marietta would begin attending Hogwarts in September. The woman – the witch, rather – had explained to Mr. and Mrs. Spiro that a wizarding representative would be in touch to arrange a shopping trip in order to purchase Marietta's school supplies within the month. Professor Longbottom had made quite an impression and the eleven-year-old was already counting the days until September 1.

The witch and wizard waved their goodbyes and stepped outside. As they begin to walk down the path, Professor Longbottom turned to his companion. "Hermione," he asked, "did you notice what I did?"

Hermione Granger nodded. "She's got Harry's eyes."


	3. A Friend

**September 2009**

Marietta had been sorted into Gryffindor. According to the students sitting at the table around her, that was a good thing. She didn't know much about the houses of Hogwarts, but Professor Longbottom had been a Gryffindor and that, she thought as he winked at her from the High Table, seemed to bode well.

Only a few more students were left to be sorted after Marietta and Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress about which she had heard so much from Professor Longbottom, stood up and spoke to the school. Marietta heard the headmistress's words but paid little attention to them. As the teacher spoke, food had begun to appear magically on the gold plates in front of the students. The older students, apparently accustomed to such feats, were paying attention to their headmistress, but the other first years seemed just as overwhelmed.

"And now … let us eat."

The words could not have come soon enough.

Marietta looked around; the tables were full of an assortment of food her mother never could have prepared, not with all the cookbooks in the world. There were tureens of soup, giant turkey legs, pumpkin pasties and mounds of vegetables. Realizing that the students around her had already begun to fill their plates, Marietta followed suit.

"Congratulations on making Gryffindor," said the boy next to her. He was a first-year as well, sorted just before her, and Marietta had to keep herself from staring at his bright blue hair. "It would have been a disappointment to my family if I'd been anything else, I think. How about yours?"

"I … uh … I was raised by Muggles," she stuttered. Marietta found this the easiest explanation; she didn't feel like launching into the whole story of her background over chicken soup.

"Oh, I see. I'm from a wizarding family, but my granddad was a Muggle. I never knew him," he added before Marietta could inquire further. "He died before I was born. I was named for him – I'm Teddy, by the way." He held out his hand and Marietta shook it.

"Marietta Spiro."

"Oh, are you Italian? I've always wanted to go to Italy." His eyes flashed with excitement; was it the light in the Great Hall or had they just changed color?

"My parents are Italian, but I'm - " Marietta paused, realizing that she didn't know exactly what she was "I'm not," she finished lamely.

If Teddy wasn't completely won over by her story, he didn't show it. They finished off the meal with a hearty conversation about their upcoming classes. Marietta knew little about the wizarding world and Teddy's knowledge impressed her. "I'm looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts," he confided. Marietta vaguely remembered Professor Longbottom telling her about it; he had seemed to prefer his own subject – Herbology, he'd called it. "I've heard the teacher is quite good and the class itself is just phenomenal. It was my godfather's favorite class in school. He's told me all his stories…"

"Your godfather?"

"Yeah, I stay with him a lot. My grandmother's getting older and I hate to be a burden, so I come round for dinner pretty often."

"Your parents are…"

"Dead," he said. Although his voice was very matter-of-fact, Marietta noticed that his hair didn't seem as blue as before. "I'm quite proud of them both, but it's hard to know if I'll be able to live up to them." Almost all the color had faded out of his unruly hair when suddenly, desert appeared on the table. "Oh, wonderful, they've got treacle tart!" As his expression brightened, Teddy's hair turned a vivid shade of orange not unlike Marietta's.

"How did you – your hair, it just - " She stuttered for a second. Were all wizards like this, had she missed out on some special magic shampoo?

Teddy laughed. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," he said by way of explanation. Marietta's face must have expressed her confusion, for Teddy laughed again. "I forgot … Muggles. A Metamorphmagus can change their appearance. Rather like a … no, you wouldn't have heard of them, never mind. I inherited it from my Mum; she could change her face and everything, but usually it's just my hair that changes." He shook his head and his hair returned to its previous state of turquoise.

Marietta touched her hair rather self-consciously. It had only ever been red and she doubted if it would ever be anything else. Not that she minded: her curly, copper-colored hair had always been the envy of all her friends. But compared to Teddy's metama-whatevering, it seemed rather dull. Teddy noticed. "You've got quite nice hair, you know," he said with a comforting smile. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were a Weasley!"

Marietta didn't understand, but Teddy laughed so she laughed along. It was nice to have friends.


	4. A Very Special Lecture

**_At one point during this chapter, a character is told to "do the math." Do not follow the advice. Do not do the math. I've done the math and the math doesn't work. Thanks for reading --- please review!_**

**October 2009**

There was to be a guest lecturer in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Teddy was excited and seemed extra-smug whenever it was mentioned. Although he refused to confirm her suspicions, Marietta thought Teddy knew the identity of their guest speaker. She had tried to squeeze the answer out of him but, upon realizing that her limited knowledge of the wizarding world would almost ensure that the guest speaker was some great and terrible warlock she'd never heard of, she gave up.

Still, as they trouped into class that morning, Marietta was just as anxious as all the other students. She rushed to join Teddy in their customary seats – middle of the second row. "Close enough not to miss anything, far away enough not to get called on too often," Teddy had explained with an air of innate wisdom. Usually the front row was left for students who arrived right before the start of class and had no other choice, but today it was crowded with students eager to hear from their guest.

"I thought you were going to be late!" Teddy exclaimed.

"What, and miss all the excitement? Never."

"Quiet down, class, quiet down." Usually Professor Underly had to make this request several times, frequently resorting to threats of incurable jinxes to silence the class. But today was different. You could hear a pin drop as the students waited anxiously for the speaker whose name they longed to hear. "As I've told you, we have a guest speaker in class today. He's a former Hogwarts student – not a pupil of mine, unfortunately – and now works in the Ministry as the Head of the Auror Office." A couple of well-informed students gasped and Marietta made a mental note to ask Teddy what an Auror was. "Students, Mr. Harry Potter."

The room burst into tumultuous applause as a young man with unruly black hair entered the classroom. He looked slightly embarrassed by the applause, but it continued. Marietta clapped, but she wasn't sure exactly why. "Well … uh … hello," he said and Marietta got the feeling that this was a man who didn't like making speeches. The applause stopped instantly; the class was again silent. "I'm afraid it's been a long time since I was a first-year at Hogwarts and you all seem a good deal smaller than I ever was. I recognize a few faces – Miss Applewhite, your mother works in the Ministry, I think." Mr. Potter pointed at a small dark-haired girl in the corner who flushed as red as Marietta's hair and nodded. "And … ah, hello Teddy." Teddy grinned up at him. "Teddy Lupin, here, is my godson." Marietta stared: _this was Teddy's godfather? _Mr. Potter's eyes slid across the table to Marietta and she saw them widen in surprise, as if with recognition. She noticed, with a jolt, that they shared the same emerald green eyes, even if his were obscured behind round glasses. He stared at Marietta for a moment, as if trying to place her, and then suddenly cleared his throat. "So Professor Underly has told me that you all are learning about jinxes and countercurses…"

The lecture was good, Marietta thought as she packed up her books, but she didn't understand why so many of the students seemed to hang on Mr. Potter's every word. His tales of being an Auror – she knew what it was now; he'd explained – were exciting, but not cause for worship. She would have asked Teddy, as they had a free period after D.A.D.A., but Teddy seemed to plan on spending his with his godfather. As she headed to the door alone, Teddy called out, "Marietta, where are you going? Stay and chat!"

She looked back. Mr. Potter was leaning against the wall, talking to Professor Underly and Teddy, who was waving her over. Marietta wasn't sure if she wanted another half hour of talking about defensive spells, but anything was preferable to spending a free period by herself in the common room. As she approached the trio, she was relieved to hear that the conversation had shifted to more normal topics. "And how's Lily doing?" Teddy asked. "Last I saw her, she wanted a toy broom."

"Ginny opposed it at first, but she's too partial to the idea that her daughter might be a Quidditch player. She's been zooming around the kitchen for months. Reminds me of her mother."

Teddy laughed and noticed Marietta's presence. "Oh, Harry, this is my friend, Marietta. Marietta … Harry Potter, my godfather."

Mr. Potter put out his hand to shake and Marietta obliged. She couldn't help noticing his eyes again. "I thought I recognized you. Marietta, you said?" She nodded. "Do your parents work at the Ministry?"

"I … I don't know, sir," she confessed. "I was adopted by Muggles when I was just a baby, but the lady from the Ministry thought I was half-blood at least." Teddy raised his eyebrows; Marietta had never before revealed this bit of information to him. Mr. Potter looked interested, but there was a cloudiness in his expression that made Marietta wonder what he was thinking.

"And you'd be … eleven?"

She nodded. "Twelve in November, sir."

Mr. Potter smiled. "Ah, a few months older than Teddy here. He's really the baby of the family, you know, even though he's one of the oldest. We all spoil him too much." The roots of Teddy's hair were tinged with red; Marietta had noticed that, instead of blushing, the Metamorphmagus's hair often expressed his feelings. "I'm glad he's found friends; he cried for weeks that he wouldn't know anyone and cursed us all for not having children his age." He paused, glancing at Marietta as if a thought had just occurred to him.

"That's enough, I think," interjected Teddy swiftly. "Harry, why don't you tell me and Marietta one of your stories from Hogwarts?"

Harry laughed. "Quick to anger, Teddy, just like your mother." Teddy smiled and his hair turned an odd shade of purple. "But I guess we have time for a story, if Miss Marietta doesn't mind?" She shook her head. "All right, which story will it be?"

"I like the one about the mountain troll the best."

"Oh, story time is it?"

Marietta, recognizing the voice, turned around. Professor Longbottom had just entered the D.A.D.A. classroom. "Neville!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, hurrying over and clapping the teacher on the back. "How have you been?"

"As well as can be expected when there's a Venomous Tentacula loose on the grounds," Professor Longbottom responded wryly. "A couple of fourth years thought it would be a funny prank…"

Mr. Potter laughed. "Remember the days when that would have been me and Ron setting loose poisonous plants? Hermione always chasing after us."

Professor Longbottom laughed as he remembered. "Those were the days. Now, I heard something about a story. Not about our school days, I hope."

"Why, what else? Teddy requested the one about the mountain troll, but now that you're here I suppose I'll have to tell the story of our first flying lesson. I'm not sure how much you'll remember; broken wrist after your first attempt at all." Before Professor Longbottom could interrupt, Mr. Potter added, "You got better though, I'll admit. Thestrals were more your style, huh?" Professor Longbottom laughed and let it go. "Now … the first flying lesson. We had the class with Slytherins, which meant Draco Malfoy. These were back in the days when the two of us couldn't stand to look at one another, let alone have a class together…"

* * *

The hour went quickly and as Marietta and Teddy left to go to their History of Magic class, Neville caught Harry watching the girl. "You've noticed then?" he asked.

"Noticed what?" Harry asked, too quickly to be believable.

"She has your eyes … your mother's eyes."

"They're green, nothing out of the ordinary about that."

"She's the spitting image of Ginny in her first year."

"That's just the red hair, her face is more like …"

"Yours, Harry. It's more like yours."

Harry froze. He had been contemplating this since he'd first laid eyes on Teddy's friend, but had been afraid to consider the possibility that there was any truth behind his thoughts. "She couldn't be…" he murmured. But everything fit. Red hair. Green eyes. Eleven years old. Anyone could do the simple math. There was only one way to find out. "I'd better head home," he told Neville, who seemed to have followed his frantic thought process remarkably well.

"Harry … don't do anything rash," Neville advised.

But Harry hardly heard him.


	5. A Confrontation

Harry Potter stepped out the fireplace, brushing ash off his shoulders. Traveling via Floo powder had become even more uncomfortable, a feat he had previously thought impossible. He'd grown taller since leaving school and he bumped his head on the mantel.

Suddenly, something wrapped around his knees, nearly knocking him over. He looked down, bemused, into the face of his younger son, Albus. "Mummy, Daddy's home!" cried a slightly older boy as he hurtled down the stairs to his father. James had Harry's dark hair, but his eyes were his mother's; only Albus had inherited Harry's emerald green eyes. Only Albus and … he pushed the strange red-haired girl out of his mind.

"Hello, Albus. What have you been up to?"

The little boy's face was smeared with jam and he spoke in mid-chew. "Nuffin," he said. "We wah havin wunch."

"And we eat lunch at the table, Albus." At the sound of her voice, Harry looked up. Standing in the doorway, balancing Lily on her hip, was Ginny. Even in jeans and an old blouse, he thought she looked beautiful. "Go finish your sandwich and then you can bother your daddy. James-"

"I've already finished, Mum, and Dad said he take me to visit Uncle Ron when he got back!" the boy whined. "He was going to tell me all about the wizard from Edinburgh with the cursed dragon eggs."

Ginny looked at her husband for confirmation. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well … I was going to, James, but something's come up. Why don't you go and play outside with your brother; I need to talk to your mum alone."

"You heard your father, boys. Go on."

"Come on, Albus," said James grumpily, detaching his younger brother from Harry's legs and half-dragging him out the door. "We're not wanted here."

"He has your moods, you know," said Ginny as she watched them leave. "Wants to be included in everything. What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked, gathering plates from the table with a flick of her wand.

"I was at Hogwarts today, spoke to a class of first years." Harry hesitated, unsure of where to begin.

"Oh, did you say hello to Teddy? I admit, I miss him coming round for dinner. I keep setting an extra place for him." The plates were now washing and rinsing themselves as Ginny focused her attention on the crumb-covered rug. Harry had always admired her skill with a wand, but right now he hardly noticed. "How is he doing? Still have that blue hair?"

"He's good. And yes. Lucky the teachers like him or he'd be told to change it. He's made a few friends, I think. I met one and she seemed like a nice enough girl. Gryffindor as well."

"Hah, it would be a girl. Little Teddy, with a girlfriend already." Harry didn't join in his wife's laughter. "Harry, what's the matter? Did something happen at the school?"

Harry didn't reply. He had taken Lily and she was sitting in his lap, playing with an old doll. Lily's hair was going to be as red as her mother's, and she had Ginny's warm brown eyes. "This girl," he said finally. "There was something about her."

"What do you mean? She looked familiar?"

"In a way."

"Maybe you know her family from the Ministry, or from your days at school. You've met a lot of people, Harry; it's probably just some sort of coincidence."

"You didn't see her," he replied. "She looked like … like …"

"Like who, dear?"

"Like you."

Ginny was facing away from him. When she spoke, her tone was light and carefree, but he noticed that her shoulders remained tense. "Well, isn't that curious! Another redhead, I presume?"

"Yeah, but that's not it. She looked just like you, Ginny."

"Well, isn't that just the strangest thing." There was a slightly panicked tone in her voice. "What's the girl's name?"

"Marietta Spiro, or something Italian like that. Of course, she couldn't look less Italian. Her parents are Muggles, but she told me she was adopted. Never knew her real parents, but 'a witch from the Ministry' said she was likely half-blood at least."

"Not Hermione?"

"I can't imagine who else."

"How old is she then?"

"Eleven, almost twelve. Just a little older than Teddy."

"Ah."

"Ginny, you have to tell me," Harry urged. "Do you know something about this girl? Anything? Please, I have to know. Tell me the truth."

She turned to face him and he was startled to see tears glistening on her face. "Harry … please don't be mad," she said quietly. "It was a long time ago and I was so, so young."


	6. A Flashback

**April 1996**

As the now-familiar feeling rose up inside her, Ginny ducked inside the closest bathroom. Running to the first available stall, she vomited into the toilet. The nausea was instantly relieved.

"Are you okay?" asked the girl next to her, alarmed by the rather disgusting noises coming from the neighboring stall. "Do you need the hospital wing?"

"No, I'm all right," Ginny said brightly, flushing the toilet and straightening her robes. "Ate a funny bit of toast at breakfast this morning. I feel much better now, just needed to get it out of my system."

She was always blunt with things like this and the girl next to her didn't seem to appreciate this, for she fell silent. After a couple of minutes of silent hand-scrubbing, the bathroom door shut with a creak.

Ginny remembered the first time this had happened, nearly a week ago. She hadn't expected it – the nausea was sudden, which now meant that she walked solely in corridors with bathrooms – and had made quite the mess, all over her new robes. Ginny, always practical, had been much more upset about the robes than anything else – she had saved for months to buy them, hardly bought an ice cream all summer. However, her worried friends had hurried her to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pompfrey had prescribed a tonic to soothe her stomach. Unfortunately, as Ginny alone had realized, all the tonics in the world were not going to solve her problem. She was pregnant.

Although it had come as a shock (obviously, she thought to herself, it was a shock…), she was a resourceful, intelligent girl and had already considered her options. If she was right, and she was almost certain she was, she would be able to finish her school term without a problem and go most of the summer without any noticeable … physical changes. And if it happened, well – she was a witch. She could handle that sort of thing. Oh come off it, a voice in her head whispered. Who was she kidding? She was just a teenage girl, just sixteen years old. She couldn't handle this even with help, let alone by herself. But who would she tell? She had few close friends in her year; her mind went directly to Luna, but although the girl was sweet, Ginny doubted Luna would be able to help her. Hermione? No, she'd just tell Ron and, worse, she'd tell him. Ginny didn't think she could take it if he found out. She could just imagine his face – the shock, the disappointment. He wasn't ready to be a father any more than she was ready to be a mother. Ginny slid to the floor of the stall and, for the first time, cried.

Quidditch had always been Ginny's escape, her source of pure joy and adrenaline. She'd been glad to be outside after a slightly nauseous morning, but as she zoomed around the pitch, a depressing gloom pervaded her mind. What would happen next year? She couldn't play on the team in the fall – she'd seen pregnant women before and they didn't look as if they could sit on a broom, let alone fly one. _But surely_, she thought, _I won't be that fat. _The thought was revolting.

"Oy, Ginny!" She looked around; Harry was waving to her from the ground, where most of the team had assembled. She shook the thoughts out of her head and turned her broom to join them. Landing with a soft thud on the grass, Ginny shook her red hair out of its helmet. She knew she was distracting Harry, who was attempting to give commentary on the day's practice. She pulled her hair back and watched him attentively, a small smile playing around her face.

She loved Harry, always had. It had been ages ago when she'd first seen him – a nervous, lanky boy without a clue in the world how to enter Platform 9 3/4. Her first year at Hogwarts had been torturous, but in the several that followed she had become friends with first Hermione and then, cautiously following her advice, Harry. Eventually, he'd grown to notice and appreciate her presence. And this year – she had known all along that this would be the year. She remembered her tryout, her first practices with the team, and – most of all – when Harry complimented her flying. His words meant more to her than Dean's kisses. Ah. Dean. It was a bit of a sore spot. She felt bad about the whole thing; after all, he'd been sweet, attentive, and dedicated. But he wasn't Harry.

"Hey!"

Someone was elbowing her.

It was Demelza.

"Shove off," she muttered, flushing, suddenly aware that the whole team was staring at her. "Yes?' she asked brightly, looking around. "Did I miss something?"

"Only the last five minutes of our discussion on flying maneuvers…" Ginny shot a glare at the direction of the team captain, who faltered. He knew what Ginny's temper was like. "Uh … Demelza will catch you up after practice. Good job today guys," he said, turning his attention back to the team. "Team dismissed."

Ginny stalked off the pitch, suddenly unable to control the anger that had suddenly welled up inside her. She was disgusted at her emotions; she had always been able to control the infamous Weasley temper, but lately even the littlest comments had been driving her insane.

"Hey, Ginny, wait up!"

She recognized the voice and quickly raised a hand to her face to wipe away the tears that had inexplicably begun to cloud her vision. "What's the matter?" Harry asked, jogging to the entrance of the locker rooms. "You seemed upset at practice."

She flashed him a smile. "Nothing. Just … girl stuff." _That wasn't really a lie, was it? _Harry, who knew better than to attempt to understand "girl stuff", nodded. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm fine."

"Well, uh … okay then." He pulled off his Quidditch robes, changing quickly back into his school uniform. "You're coming to dinner, right?"

Ginny's stomach flipped at the sound of the word "dinner."

"I'm not hungry," she said quickly. "And besides, I … I have a lot of work to do tonight." As if determined to disagree, her stomach let out a loud rumble. Harry's eyebrows furrowed, but the fierce look on Ginny's face told him not to interfere. "I have some food in my trunk, I'll eat something. Don't worry." When he hesitated, she patted his arm. "Go up to dinner, you look starved. I'll see you tonight in the common room, okay?"

Harry shrugged. "Okay, sounds good." He leaned in for a brief kiss before jogging off to dinner. As she heard the door shut behind him, Ginny let out a long sigh and, for the second time that day, felt hot, prickly tears slide down her cheeks.


End file.
